


The Little Things

by Gato_322



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, two dorks falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24892060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gato_322/pseuds/Gato_322
Summary: Gwen takes note of the details the first day they introduce themselves to each other. He’s tall and lanky, faint freckles dotting every surface not covered by the stupid summery outfit of his. She laughs at his dumb yellow bandanna and gravity-defying hair and he laughs at the piles of books and movies she dragged into the cabin.Gwen realizes that her co-counselor likes leaving hints. Or maybe she's reading too much into it. She can't tell.
Relationships: David/Gwen (Camp Camp)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	1. Thinks Romance is Hopeless

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in months but damn if these two haven't spurred something in me.  
> I just really like innocent and sweet love and David seems like the perfect candidate to start something like that.

It’s the little things. 

Gwen takes note of the details the first day they introduce themselves to each other. He’s tall and lanky, faint freckles dotting every surface not covered by the stupid summery outfit of his. She laughs at his dumb yellow bandanna and gravity-defying hair and he laughs at the piles of books and movies she dragged into the cabin.

“I think we’re gonna get along just swell!” He announces, swinging his arm in enthusiasm and Gwen wonders what the fuck she’d signed herself up for.

At first, she planned to regard him with casual indifference and maybe mental health watch because there was no way someone could be so relentlessly happy. And yet, he portrays himself with nothing but unbounded joy and actual honest-to-god excitement about every little activity they did, and she has no idea what secret arsenal he pulls that shit from.

It takes a couple days. The first week, he brings her a coffee from the mess hall, along with packets of cream and sugar because he says he didn’t know what her tastes were. Of course, the answer was pitch black like her soul or some edgy shit like that but the genuine care in his eyes when he puts that mug in her hands makes her unable to supply an answer.

They aren’t perfect, by any means. She smacks him and taunts him and teases his ideas to the ground, and he sometimes snaps at her when she’s a bit too relentless (complete with his sobbing apology a few seconds later, and an awkward hug-it-out session). But eventually Gwen begins to realize David truly honest-to-god cares. And it’s _weird_.

No one oughta care so much. Not to her or the kids or the camp or the godforsaken shifty mess of an owner. His mindset is one of a kind, unique in its portrayal of every negative thing that bombards the accursed camp of theirs. 

She asks him once, after a solid month and a half. 

“Alright, spit it out.”

He turns to her, hands busy scribbling out the agenda for the next day. He’s leaning against his desk, wide green eyes somehow not laced with exhaustion like Gwen’s were. “Huh?”

“How. The fuck are you happy all the goddamn time?” She lounges on the couch, the Joy of Painting playing in the background. Surrounded by positivity she couldn’t help but question. “It’s unnatural, David. If you’re doing drugs, I better know.”

“Hm. No, no drugs here.” David sets down his clipboard, musing over the question more seriously than she’d intended. “I just think the kids deserve a positive role model and environment to thrive to their fullest potential! Plus what’s not to love about Camp Campbell?”

“Literally everything.” Gwen huffs. “Just. Lemme know you’re not deep in some denial shit, David.”

“I’m not.” His response is sharp. She sits up a bit. “I just...really like being here. The kids are great. Camp Campbell tries his best. This place feels like home and...and I dunno, I really like being with you.”

That in itself feels off. Like a lie. In her 24 years, Gwen had never felt truly wanted, or liked, or hell, even tolerated. And yet David spouts it out like he actually meant it. Which means he _does_ mean it, or he’s ridiculously good at denying any negativity into his mess of a life.

“You’re a dick.” She spits, turning back to watch the TV. David blinks, quiet, but doesn’t bother replying as the scratch of his pen starts back up.

But it’s the little things.

She doesn’t want to believe it. But the little things try to convince her. The brightly colored notes he leaves to let her know of his whereabouts. The treats he sets at her desk when she has a hard day. The way he sets up Joy of Painting for her during their off-time, or takes over camp when Mother Nature punches her in the gut, or how he squeezes her shoulder or gives a reassuring smile when the kids are absolute hell.

He’s more than just a coworker, he’s friendly and warm and inviting and confusing and Gwen feels like a damned Mary Sue protagonist in one of her trashy romance novels. Coworkers don’t check in daily to make sure you’re okay. Coworkers don’t send constant meaningful looks that only last a few seconds before they turn away with the infectious smile. She’s _never_ worked with someone like David. 

She’ll never ask him directly. God no, she’d rather die than ask straight to his face if he likes her. And she told herself he’d never reply honestly anyway even though she knows for a fact he’d tell her straight up what the answer was. If he professed his love, he’d do it sincerely and honestly and devotedly. If he confessed the friend zone, he’d still shower her with praise and how they were best cabin buddies for life.

So she takes the small signs and eventually tries retaliating as best as she can.

It’s hard to gauge how it works. She snags him a coffee or donut before the kids wake up. She gives him the good couch, or first pick of the show. She smiles back, or squeezes his shoulder, or his hand, or hugs him, and she can’t decide on what to commit to, what conveys the strictest portrayal of “we are friends”. It’s confusing and smoldering and a typhoon of anxious thoughts trapped in her mess of a brain.

It’s not that she _wants_ to keep everything in the friendzone. But god forbid she step over boundaries and ruin whatever is happening. 

But it has to be little things. It’s all she can give.

And one night, she mixes it up. So it’s just a small goodnight peck. Right on top of his fiery red hair and for a second she wonders what the fuck is wrong with her until he does it right back.

“That’s very sweet, Gwen!” He declares, that deliciously sweet smile stretching on his goofy face and she can’t tell what he takes it as.

And for a week. For a week, that becomes a routine. A quick exchange of forehead kisses followed by laughs and hushed goodnights, small and platonic and feeling no bigger than their quick little hugs or hand squeezes of reassurance. It eventually moved into sillier locations. He kisses her hand like a noble baron, he kisses his nose like a puppy she found. Hell, she kisses his bandanna once and that throws him into a fit of laughter that she’d give everything to hear again.

The end of the week, they meet at the front of the cabin and talk under a blanket of night stars. The air is humid and stale and the faint warm breeze causes the trees to rustle and join the noise as they discuss the mess of a day. His eyes sparkle, he’s somehow unfazed despite the mussed hair and singe marks on his vest from a failed Science Camp experiment. And she wonders, for a second, what she can do with this energy.

The little things. She searches for the right signs. The eager look in his eyes, the smile on his lips, the way he tilts forward just enough. Just enough for her to move forward and meet his lips with her own.

It’s a million things at once. A million thoughts racing through her head, converging into nervous energy right down to her fingertips. But he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t fly into a manic episode about how it’s against the rules to display PDA, he doesn’t freeze up, he doesn’t laugh in her face at the mere prospect he’d ever be into her. The only sign she gets in return is a tense movement in his muscles before he wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer.

When she pulls away, he’s starry-eyed and blushing. The freckles over his cheeks stand out like the constellations above. The joy on his face rivals any measure she’s ever seen since they first arrived and she wonders when she’d begun to study him so closely.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, soft and awestruck and she stares back in disbelief like she hadn’t been playing the stupid little game, as if she hadn’t been slowly analyzing every possible clue that the kiss was ever warranted. Usually, she wouldn’t have. She’s impatient and eager and needy and would’ve tossed herself at him the very first time she’d begun to question intent just to find an answer, but the idea that this was her muse, he was _David_ meant she somehow had felt the need to slow everything down. She doesn’t feel the need to regret it.

“You’re a dork,” she replies, but she’s quick to wrap her arms around him too, leaning in and smelling cedar and woodsmoke and the unmistakable scent of David that’d followed her around the entire summer.

_Goddammit, what have you done to me?_

“I thought you’d never figure it out.” The stars in his eyes are still there, still stupid and hopeful and his voice is laced with giddiness. “I, uh, didn’t wanna rush or something. Or pressure you. Or be weird. Was it weird?”

“What? You?”

“Oh, you know. My little gestures and such.” He smiles, gentle and pure. “I wondered if you’d know I had a little crush on you. Or if you noticed me at all.”

“How the fuck could I miss you. You’re a bundle of energy.” Her tone is playful, and she moves forward to peck him again, laughing against his mouth as he slips a hand on her back and the two of them giggle. It’s stupid, she thinks. Teenager shit, first love shit, it didn’t belong and yet it felt so 100% genuine David. 

_Fine. I think I love you._ It feels dumb and childish and vulnerable as all hell but she wasn’t letting go of the feeling just yet. She’d cherish it. She’d cherish him all she could before the negativity pulled her back. 


	2. The Hopeless Romantic

David isn’t much for romancing.

He doesn’t think too much about it, busy with keeping up a positive outlook on the day as it is. The ability to get through the day relies on the energy of his campers and the forest around him, not a girl. The camp is perfect, a source of devotion and vast opportunities and little campers that could occasionally be difficult but still tugged at every string on his heart. 

Gwen is a mystery. He’d met his match before with miserable people, but she proved to immediately be a tougher nut to crack. Her rebuttals to his ideas, her wisecracks and insults, her constant swearing sometimes grated on his nerves. He resigned himself to gentle amiability the very first day, until they began to find common ground. Dealing with terrible campers, watching Bob Ross, and complaining about the lack of pay showed pretty clearly that Gwen’s sardonic attitude was solely fueled by the craziness of fussy scheming campers.

He figures she needs as much positivity as he could give. It’s equivalent to trying to feed an angry alligator (or Platypus mascot) but he tries. He starts with a warm coffee in the morning, ignoring her sleepy “the fuck?” under her breath as he slips it into her hands. He wants to display as much appreciation as he can. The camp would burn over completely if he’d been the only employee there, and Gwen knows that fact pretty well. But a little appreciation goes a long way, he thinks.

She begins to open up, just a bit. She hits him less. She argues less. She meets his overly positive ideas with only casual eye rolls and genuine input instead of sarcastic replies. David knows she isn’t a bad person, not by a long shot. There’s something else there that he has no business unraveling, but he still tries to break through her rough exterior for a genuine friendship. That’s what he tells himself.

“Alright. Spit it out.”

He’s scribbling down ideas, despite their ever dwindling budget, and he turns to look at her. She’s draped on the couch, staring him down with that ever-bored look in her eyes. He wonders if there could ever be a bit more interest when he’s in her gaze. “Huh?”

“How. The fuck are you happy all the goddamn time?” She shifts, staring at him, and David sighs at the ever persistent question he’s given. “It’s unnatural, David. If you’re doing drugs, I better know.”

“Hm. No, no drugs here.” He sets down the paper and thinks. He gives the same preamble as always, that the kids give him hope. And they really do; they mean so much more than he thought before. They’re hopeful and sweet and talented and absolute menaces but he loves them all. He loves the camp that shaped his personality. And he loves...

He pauses. “...and I dunno, I really like being with you.”

Gwen’s eyes widen, and he might as well have chucked the clipboard at her head. He wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t that correct, it wasn’t a lie and didn’t she feel the same, until she shifts in her chair again.

“You’re a dick.” And that is that. She thinks she’d caught him in some kind of lie, an exaggeration, a sentence to add so as not to hurt her feelings. He swallows hard, wondering why she can’t understand that it is the little things he loves about her. How she schemes to get him out of trouble, how she helps wrangle all the kids no matter the circumstance, how she’s always there to help even if it is a little belated. She never let him down. They spent every single day by each other’s side, within each other’s reach, understanding so many news things every new waking moment and he wouldn’t miss any of it. And he’d tell her every word possible if she wasn’t fixated on the tv already. 

He thinks he might’ve done something wrong, and avoids her for a bit. Not enough to cause trouble, but enough to garner a tad bit of suspicion from the campers and for Gwen to barely notice it before he can’t handle it anymore and returns to their general closeness. She never gives an indication that she noticed the change.

She begins the kisses first. He’s curled in bed, hugging his piece of driftwood, hearing her patter around the room in preparation for bed. She stops at his side, carrying a scent of shampoo, soft and floral and _Gwen_ and suddenly a kiss is planted on his forehead.

He’s surprised, of course. And Gwen bursts into a series of apologies amongst embarrassed laughter and he wonders if he can ask her to do it again.

In a way, he supposes he does. It’s small, playful, relatively platonic. He kisses her hand, her hair, her eyebrow, straying away from spots that might give the wrong idea. He kisses her headboard once as a joke and she pushes him away with ringing adorable laughter that causes something in his stomach to flutter. He might as well have swallowed a liter of butterflies.

She’s pretty. He wonders if it’d be possible to say it, as they stand before the cabin a week later. He’s distracted from the mild burns on his arms and the exhaustion lacing his muscles from yet another chaotic day because he can stare at her, wondering as those purple eyes trained on him hold an emotion he can’t recognize. Something is different. For once, he’s completely confused on what Gwen’s intentions are.

 _I love you,_ He thinks, so loudly in his head, tinged with nervousness and worry and it’s too fast, he can’t say it, don’t say it. _I love you._ He wants to transfer it over without speaking, without feeling like he’d taint the words into making her think he’s lying or exaggerating or placing a sentence so as not to hurt her feelings--

She moves forward suddenly, so closely, and kisses him so fast that his head spins. And that is it. That’s her reply, an _I love you_ in subdued Gwen fashion. He smiles at her, beams, overjoyed and relishing in the soft look she’s giving him that he begins to recognize as admiration.

“You’re amazing.” It has to be said. She really truly is. _And I love you._

“You’re a dork.” She smiles back, her own way of praising him and he realizes he’s begun to speak her language. They’re in each other’s arms, and the action has never been new but the underlying message now makes the contact feel tingly and warm and _fresh._

“I thought you’d never figure it out,” he says, continuously aware of his actions and how Gwen feels about them. Is it weird, he says, but in his head he wonders if maybe he did anything wrong, if this is out of pity or he’s misreading or whether it was all enough to express his feelings without displaying _love_ on his sleeve like every other emotion he wears.

“How the fuck could I miss you. You’re a bundle of energy.” She kisses him again, soft and gratifying and _everything_ as David pulls her closer and they giggle. They relish in the hug, in the newfound feelings of a confirmed crush, of the very first pangs of affection that David hasn’t had in a very long time. He’ll love her. He’ll shower her in positivity and praise and everything he can give if it means she can finally be happy too.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I 100% see David as a hopeless romantic who's too sweet for his own good. I mean, just look at this man. 
> 
> I'm aware that their relationship is moreso platonic in the show but they'd be cute af if that appreciation for each other turned into full-blown affection. Maybe one day...


End file.
